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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066237">My Boys</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0'>AnotherAnon0</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Complicated Affair [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Later: pseudo-incest), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Captivity, Choking, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Force-Feeding, Forced Cohabitation, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Relationship, Fucked Up, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Heavy Angst, Impregnation, M/M, Mpreg, Parasitic Pleasure, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tyrant Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:07:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After falling prey to Sergei while intoxicated, Albert begins to notice something is happening in his body.</p><p>He soon discovers he is pregnant with Sergei's twin tyrants. </p><p>[Read and heed tags, please!]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sergei Vladimir/Albert Wesker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Complicated Affair [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Happenings (Introduction)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/misch3fbunni3/gifts">misch3fbunni3</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261322">A Glass of Milk Before Sleep Helps Swallow the Sorrows</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/misch3fbunni3/pseuds/misch3fbunni3">misch3fbunni3</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Albert took a deep, shaky breath through his nose.</p><p>He was trying to calm the nausea that was undulating through his belly in roiling waves to no avail. Every fragment of a second he thought he had it under control, it came back in full force -- his abdominal muscles wrenching and cramping through another lurch in his stomach. Bile poured from his throat into the toilet below -- yellow and acidic. After almost an hour, kneeling on the floor, hugging the cool bowl -- he didn't know how much fluid in his body he could possibly have left to purge.</p><p>Albert stumbled to his feet when wet heaves finally became dry heaves. His entire mouth was dry, burned, and stunk -- he needed water.</p><p>Clutching onto the rim of the sink, he pulled himself upwards to a shaky stand. Turning the cold tap on was a chore, and he almost fell while doing it, but the moment he was able to get the flow of water started he lunged into the stream mouth-first. He let the water run over his face and hair, too, uncaring that he had to shove his face against the bowl of the small sink to do it. The coolness was a comfort, and helped battle the heat of the nausea. </p><p>He resisted looking at his own reflection for as long as he could. </p><p>He didn't want to. </p><p>He'd caught a glimpse of it while rushing into the bathroom after he'd woken up and he could have gone without seeing it again. He knew it was bad. </p><p>Initially, when he'd woken up naked in a pool of his own puke and sweat he'd thought he'd simply been on another binge bender. He'd had a lot of those recently, and he could smell the tequila in his pores. But when he'd went to move and felt the pain radiating through his hips -- he knew it couldn't have been that simple. </p><p>Memories were slow to return, but as they did they assaulted him with nauseating clarity, involuntarily playing out behind his eyes like a movie he was being forced to watch. </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Sergei.</em> </strong>
</p><p>That prick.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>There was no reason Sergei should have been at that bar. Albert knew that full well. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But in his drunken stupor he was less critical than he should have been. He didn't ask himself why a man who generally preferred classy restaurants and private booths was sitting at the counter of a dingy downtown Raccoon City bar, sipping on a mug of coffee like he were at a breakfast cafeteria, completely ignoring all of the strangers who came up to him and expressed interest before storming away in anger at his total silence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Three beers and five shots of petrol into his night and he was stumbling over to the older man, prodding his finger at his massive, broad chest with argumentative bravado. He'd abandoned the stranger who had been groping at his bottom to do it, deciding once and for all that he was going to give him a piece of his mind. About what, he wasn't even quite sure himself, but he had plenty of vitriol for the thorn in his side that was Sergei Vladimir and his barbaric, perverted foot soldiers like Brian Irons.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"F-fuck y-yoou, g-giant Rush'n cunt." He said dopily, "Y-y-ou don' e-veen k-k-know how mush' I <strong>hate</strong> you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sergei had simply smiled. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was no reason Sergei should have been smiling. Albert knew that full well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p>"F-fuck S-Sherg-gee. He'sh-shutch a f-fu-fu-fucking b-bashtard." Albert mumbled and groaned stupidly, spitting a few times into the sink.</p><p>Since the first, the memories had come stronger and harder with every passing fragment of time. They'd fuelled the nausea, strengthened the wrenching. They screamed through his mind to the point where Albert had wanted to rip off his ears, as if that would have helped at all.</p><p>He didn't want to remember what had happened. He wanted it to disappear down the toilet with his bile. </p><p>From his awkward angle, head curled into the sink and arms clutching the rim -- Albert just barely noticed a prominent bruise on his left inner elbow. </p><p>If he focused on it for too long, he could just barely see the swollen prick of skin associated with a harsh needle puncture.</p><p>Sergei had injected him with something. He didn't know when and he didn't know what, but he shivered at the thought.</p><p>He was absolutely intoxicated the previous night, so any drugs to enforce his physical compliance to what had come would have been complete overkill. He'd been so weak and vulnerable, and the thought immediately recalled another memory he desperately wanted to kick out of his mind for eternity. </p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>"A bit tighter than I expected, malysh, you have been lonely, da?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Albert writhed on the ground, cum and spit still drooling from his strained, gaped jaw from the brutal throatfucking he'd just been subjected to. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sergei had called it 'warm up.' Albert had thought it torture.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was sure the man had ripped a bald spot in his head with the tight grip he'd had on his hair throughout. And if he hadn't ripped a patch of hair out, he'd certainly caved the back of his head in with the rough thrusts over his face, sending his head ricocheting into the floor with every wiggle of his hips. But in his drunkenness Albert been too weak to resist.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Too weak. Always too weak. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even the meek kicks he'd issued to try and displace Sergei from in between his legs did nothing but amuse him. The older man had grabbed them and held them still against as he delivered rough, long thrusts that cracked his pelvis and poked at his stomach. He felt like his body was being split in half with every push.</em>
</p><p><em>"S-sh-shtop! P-pl-please!" </em> <em>Albert slurred through whining protests, the milky white deposits Sergei had left in his oesophagus bubbling up around the corners of his lips as he spoke. </em></p><p>
  <em>"Ah... don't act like you don't enjoy this, malysh!" Sergei hissed through a smirk, "What else were you doing at that bar but looking for someone to stuff your hole? And now I give you what you want and you complain? Zhalkiy!" Sergei accented his words with increasingly harder stuffings, Albert feeling like the wind was being knocked out of him with every intrusion deeper and deeper into his body. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"N-no!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p>Albert was too disoriented to turn the tap off when he stumbled towards the doorframe out of the bathroom, clutching onto the win trim and taking a glance out into his small apartment. </p><p>The coffee table was broken. </p><p>His clothes were in a pile on the floor by the couch. </p><p>There were some red smears on the floor around where he'd woken up, mixed in with the puke, piss, and sweat. </p><p>The tendons in his neck began to tingle with acid as he locked eyes on that spot. His stomach wrenched again. He clutched it tightly, trying to hold down whatever wanted to come up.</p><p>For a moment, he thought he'd be successful... and then he caught the unmistakable, lingering whiff of a cigarette. Albert's eyes quickly found the butt that had been snuffed out carelessly on the arm of his couch, leaving a deep burn in the beige fabric. </p><p>~</p><p>
  <em>"Stop crying, malysh. It is unbecoming."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sergei took a deep inhale of his cigarette -- the thin white tube looking absurdly miniature between his massive fingers. He was looming over him, standing with his belt haphazardly fastened, a disdainful twitch to his nose. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and dusted off his heavy coat with a few slaps, like it had been dirtied even by having been flung over his breakfast counter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fu-uck y-you." Albert heaved through gasping, gurgling sobs. He could feel spittle and snot running down his face, and he was sure he looked a pathetic mess but he didn't have the physical or emotional energy to care.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Perhaps next time, my doll. I am tired." The corners of Sergei lips piqued up into a smirk, "Daddy has to work tomorrow."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"T-here w'nt b-be a fu-fuckin' next time!" Albert spat, trying to roll over onto his side but hand slipping pathetically in the body fluids beneath, "F-fuck'in <strong>pig</strong>!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sergei sucked down the last half an inch of the cigarette, chuckling throughout at Albert's futile attempts to rise. He quickly snuffed the butt out on the nearby couch arm, shrugging his coat on with a grunt as he exhaled.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oh?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~</em>
</p><p>Albert couldn't avoid the glimpse of himself he caught when he raced back into the bathroom to spit up some bile. </p><p>Yellow-tinged tendrils of spittle leaking from his chin, he took a look at his reflection in the mirror hanging over the taps. </p><p>His lips looked bruised. His hair was a tousled, torn mess, patches of dark red, abused scalp emanating clearly through the light colour of his locks. There was a bit of dried blood beneath his nostrils. </p><p>But his eyes -- his eyes were absolutely ragged. Bloodshot, with dark, dark bags hanging beneath them. Not even after his worst mission had he looked so utterly fucked. </p><p>The shower that followed the quick assessment was rough, hot, and utilitarian. He scrubbed between his cheeks with a loofa until he felt his skin beginning to burn with a warning that he'd tear through the flesh soon. He opened his mouth widely and let water flow down his throat before gagging it back up. He used a washcloth on his teeth and tongue, unconcerned with the soapy residue lathering the inside of his mouth. He welcomed it. </p><p>When he felt he could be no cleaner and his skin was practically glowing pink, he stumbled out of the shower and snatched a towel from the back of the door to lazily wrap himself with.</p><p>One refreshed look at the state of his apartment was enough for him to decide he wanted nothing to do with it and any other potential memories of torment it might provoke. </p><p>He found his phonebook amongst the shards of his coffee table, and quickly flipped through in search of a cleaning service. Finding one, he unceremoniously ripped the page out and carefully manoeuvred towards his phone. </p><p>Punching the numbers into the receiver, he uncoiled the phone's messy cord so that he could make his way to the kitchen and drink some much-needed fluids.</p><p>"I need a cleaner, ple-please..." He hacked to the chipper woman who answered, voice still rough and choppy from the overwhelming burn of acidic bile in his throat, "T-today, p-please."</p><p>"Rush service has a surcharge, are you s--"</p><p>"Yes. I don't care. Ju-just... as soon as possible." He cleared his throat, "And have them bring h-heavy chemicals pl-please."</p><p>"Heavy chemicals, Sir?" The woman almost sounded like she were furrowing her brow.</p><p>"Y-yeah, j-just... Whatever." Albert slipped into the thin galley kitchen, unconcerned when the towel he'd strung around his waist dropped.</p><p>"Alright..." The woman paused, "Name and address, Sir?"</p><p>"Wesker. 531 Osgoo--" Just as he reached for the fridge, Albert noticed a white card pinned to the freezer door beneath a magnet. </p><p>"I'm sorry, was that 531 Osgoode Street?" The woman piped up after a moment of silence.</p><p>"Yeah... Apartment 1407." Albert muttered, eyes fixated on the card, "Just uh... co-me when you c-can."</p><p>Albert let the phone drop from his fingers as they lunged for the white slip. It was a simple piece of notepaper folded in two, and he flipped it open with trembling fingers.</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Thanks for the good time.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Give me a call when you need me.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <strong>Daddy</strong> </em>
</p><p>The cleaning service secretary peeped in surprise through the still-active line when she heard him begin to hurl into his kitchen sink.</p><p>"S... Sir? A-are you... okay?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is going to be a short but wild ride, kids, buckle up! On par with if not worse than Mother in theme (eventually).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Albert didn't feel good.</p><p>In the days following Sergei's <em>little visit</em>, he'd felt ill, but had written it off to the awful combination of alcohol and physical battery. </p><p>His head pounded, his guts churned, his muscles trembled. Despite the giggles and jovial jeers from the rest of the S.T.A.R.S, he’d taken to wearing his sunglasses inside because any little bit of light made him feel like vomiting. </p><p>Foolishly, he'd thought it would go away. But as one day turned into two, and a week folded into the next, he realised something was <em>very</em> wrong. His extended sickness wasn't able to be explained away by hangovers or tiredness, and he became increasingly anxious that it had to do with whatever Sergei had injected him with. Though he'd given himself a toxicology test the next day and nothing suspect had been identified. A week later, he went to Birkin and asked him to run a few more tests and call him if anything was out of the ordinary and he never did. But despite it all, he knew it couldn't have been that simple. </p><p>Nothing with Sergei ever was.</p><p>He resisted the urge to call the <em>bastard</em> and demand answers, sometimes finding himself with his phone in his hand and the number dialled. </p><p>But no.</p><p><em>No</em>, he didn't want to talk to him. He didn't want to hear his voice. And he was almost - <em>almost</em> - afraid of the possibility the man would have told him and it would have been devastating.</p><p>"Hey, Captain?"</p><p>Albert didn't quite register the fact he'd been called multiple times by the team until he felt a hand graze his shoulder. He jolted and yelped -- the touch almost felt like it had burned him. His eyes flicked up to see Redfield jerking away, a rather surprised look on his face. Beside him, Vickers was wide-eyed, equally as shocked.</p><p>"Are... are you okay, Wesker?" Vickers asked, voice low.</p><p>Albert cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, a throb drumming up the pace in his temples.</p><p>"Ah... y-yes. Sorry... Zoned out there for a minute."</p><p>Redfield furrowed his brow, "You've been doing that a lot lately, is there anythin--"</p><p>"I am feeling ill. It happens." Albert snapped, "It is August. The flu is going ar-- what do you want, Chris?"</p><p>Redfield shrugged, "Just wondering if we can clock out now, it's 6:30..."</p><p>Albert's eyes flicked towards the digital clock glowing red digits on his desk. He was sure he'd just sat down at it for the day, and hours upon hours had passed.</p><p>"Yes -- uh... yeah. See you tomorrow."</p><p>"It's Friday, Sir."</p><p>~</p><p>It had taken Albert 4 hours of fierce concentration to finish up the work he'd neglected throughout the day, and even then there was more to do. He simply didn't have the energy for it. </p><p>Exiting the station when it was dark was a relief. No sunlight to combat, he was able to remove his glasses for the briefest moment and slip them atop his head. While he'd initially wanted to drive straight home and order some soup, Albert ended up bypassing his car and walking down Parkwood Street towards the noisier downtown district. </p><p>A drink wouldn't hurt, he decided. </p><p>He felt slightly better for the first time all day, the coolness of the evening calming his nerves and soothing his empty stomach. And <em>surely</em> one beer wouldn't kill him -- if anything, he thought a little bit of a buzz would be of benefit. He could go home and sleep immediately. </p><p>His favourite bar was a connective alley down from the RPD station. While the sight of the glistening neon sign provoked the slightest bit of unconscious anxiety, he forced himself through his fear.</p><p>Sergei wasn't going to ruin <em>his</em> bar for him, he thought bitterly, almost forceful as he swung open the door and strode towards the counter where the usual tender was wiping glasses. He slipped onto an empty stool and reached for the wallet in his back pocket as the man came near. They knew each other by name, having spent more than one night sharing shots and bitching about the city. </p><p>"John, can I get a--"</p><p>"Nope."</p><p>Albert paused, fingers frozen against the leather, "What?"</p><p>John sighed, setting the glass he'd been cleaning down and slinging the white towel over his shoulder, "Sorry, Al. Can't do it."</p><p>Albert's shoulders slouched and his brow furrowed. He tried to read John's face for any signs the man was just joking around with him but found nothing but exasperation. The harder he looked, the more a small, faint bruise on the older man's left cheekbone became the focus of his attention. </p><p>"John... what happened?" Albert said slowly, quietly. </p><p>The man looked like he was searching for words, his cheek twitching. </p><p>"Listen, man... I don't want any trouble." He said, lifting his hands like he were defeated, "I just can't risk my business right now... Do you know how much deb--"</p><p>"Risk your business?!" Albert's sudden declaration turned more than a few eyes. John simply tried to smile at the patrons, making a dismissive gesture until they looked away. He leaned in closer to Albert as soon as they did.</p><p>"That... Umbrella executive came in last week." John said, voice hushed, "He said if you came here, to not serve you even a single drop. He told me he'd have Irons lock me up!" John began to mumble in upset, "He fuckin' set me up! He sent in some kids... I didn't know they were kids! And I gave 'em a drink... I didn't fuckin' know..."</p><p>Albert's jaw began to drop in outrage, "<strong><em>Sergei</em></strong>..."</p><p>John shrugged, moving back to stand, "I'm sorry, man, I don't know what to tell you! I just can't do it."</p><p>~</p><p>Albert had never driven home so fast in his life. </p><p>As illegal and improper as it was, he slapped the sirens on the top of his car so he could speed with impunity, triple parking in front of his building out of nothing but sheer rage and a desperation to get to his phone. He wasn't even sure if he turned them off when he exited his car, nor did he care.</p><p>The moment he entered his condo, he ripped through his kitchen drawers looking for the Umbrella Employee directory he knew he had gotten some months ago. He dumped out the cabinets, letting papers and tools spill onto the floor until he found the little white book. </p><p>Flipping through, he found Sergei's office extension. Though it was nearly midnight, he had a gut feeling the <em>bastard</em> would answer. Even if he didn't, Albert had other people he could call to find his personal number.</p><p>Fortunately, that was unnecessary.</p><p>After just three rings, the phone was picked up. Albert didn't even wait for a greeting before screeching into the receiver. </p><p>"He--"</p><p>"<strong><em>What the FUCK are you doing to me</em></strong>?!" He barked, spittle flying out of his lips as he did. </p><p>"Oh... Comrade Wesker... Is that you? How are you doing?" Sergei said casually. Albert could practically <em>hear</em> the grin on his stupid face.</p><p>"You fucking <em><strong>cunt</strong></em>! What the <em><strong>fuck</strong></em> is going on?!" Albert hissed, "What did you <em><strong>do</strong></em> to me?! Just fucking say it."</p><p>"Do to you?" Sergei almost sounded offended, "What ever do you mean, comrade? Are you perhaps not feeling well?"</p><p>Albert was snarling like a dog, every syllable chopping through the phone with its faux-confused tone making him want to track Sergei down and strangle him.</p><p>"You <strong><em>fucking</em></strong> know damn well I haven't been feeling well. And you know why, too, don't you, you giant gorilla? Just tell me <em><strong>what</strong></em> is going on before I come over there an unload a Desert Eagle magazine in your other eye."</p><p>Sergei laughed heartily, the sound of his amusement nothing but nails on a chalkboard to Albert, who had begun sorting through the mess on the floor looking for his Safsprin.</p><p>"Comrade! Surely you wouldn't want to do that to the father of your child, <em>da</em>? Who will take care of you!"</p><p>Albert dropped the tiny bottle just seconds after his fingers had clutched at it.</p><p>He paused for a moment, letting the words marinate in his mind like he'd never heard English syllables before.</p><p>"The... the <em>what</em> of my <em>what</em>?" His hand slipped up to the receiver, dislodging it from his shoulder and chin and holding it a bit tighter against his ear as he listened. </p><p>"I was very elated, I must say, when Dr. Birkin reached out and let me know."</p><p>"When Dr. Birkin reached out and let you know <em>fucking</em> what?" Albert asked with a slow bite.</p><p>"That you are pregnant!" Sergei chirped giddily, "Well... <em>technically</em> you are gestating my clones, but that sounds so... cold and utilitarian."</p><p>Albert felt the room suddenly tilt to the side, line of vision bounding like he were on a rocking ship.</p><p>"I was extremely pleased. I will be honest that I did not have full confidence the drugs would work considering your... less than ideal state at the time of injection, but your genes are truly excellent and your strong body pulled through despite your best efforts to be a slovenly drunk."</p><p>"W-- wh-what..?" Albert blathered, trying to reach out for the wall to hold himself steady. </p><p>"We must work on that... You have a horrible diet. So much processed junk! Not good for an expectant moth--"</p><p>The phone slipped from Albert's hands as he dropped to the floor, cascading to his knees before falling to his side. </p><p>His vision continued to warble before his eyes fluttered shut and he descended into total mental darkness. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another small set up...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Homecoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Albert knew he wasn't in his condo before he even opened his eyes.</p><p>He remembered he'd fallen on the floor in the foyer by his kitchen -- but he could feel a pillow cradling his head, one with a scent he couldn't identify as his own. </p><p>Mint.</p><p>Citrus fruits.</p><p>Pine.</p><p>It complimented what was distinctly the pattering of heavy rain on a window, and for the smallest moment it was comforting. But that comfort quickly faded as Albert's brain reminded him that something was <em>very</em> wrong. Groaning, his eyes fluttered open slowly, mind still hazy and temples throbbing. Pangs of painful realisation began to settle in as he recalled what had led to his collapse in the first place. </p><p><em>Sergei</em>.</p><p>Consciousness suddenly smashed through him like a bullet train making impact. He jolted up, gasping in a mix of horror and anxious fright, eyes darting around to take in his surroundings. No, he most certainly was not in his own condo -- the bedroom was huge, glistening white walls complimenting the white duvet his lower body was sheathed beneath. There was almost nothing in the bedroom but for some strange abstract art pieces and gaudy, contemporary bedside tables with sharp edges and glass tops upon which elaborate night lamps stood. </p><p>A very large window stretched almost the entire length of one side of the room, from the floor to the ceiling without any curtain to obscure the dark and cloudy day outside. But he couldn't see much of anything anyway, the rain was drenching against the window, blurring the view completely like the entire world was in a carwash. </p><p>Albert stumbled from the bed on shaky legs, horrified when the duvet slipped away to reveal he was pantless. He was swimming in a huge, grey shirt, one that hung over his body like a tremendous potato sack. It didn't take him more than a heartbeat to realise the implications of where such a giant piece of clothing could have come from. </p><p>'<em>No... no, no, no</em>...' </p><p>He staggered towards the ajar door, naked feet plodding against the pristine, cool white tiles below. He pulled it open forcefully, barely blinking as he scanned what was clearly the living room beyond the frame. </p><p>More white. Everything was <em>white</em>. Shiny. Like a bloody showroom. It all betrayed the soothing, organic smells on the bed. </p><p>A contemporary white couch of the types which looked like they were filled with concrete. More glass-topped tables. More abstract art. More floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around the room. The only thing of any organic colour was the stupidly elaborate, bright purple vase perched on a nearby console table. </p><p>"Ah! You are awake. Good."</p><p>Albert mewed stupidly, eyes darting towards what was clearly an open-concept kitchen beyond a half-wall. </p><p>Sergei almost blended in with the stainless steel appliances. He was pouring orange juice into two glasses. </p><p>"I just finished making breakfast. Come to the dining room and eat."</p><p>Albert didn't think -- he only reacted, snatching the vase with an arms reach and brandishing it like a weapon. The gesture made Sergei almost drop the carton, unscarred eye widening.</p><p>"You put that down immediately! That is a Kornilov!" He stammered. </p><p>Realising its value to the older man, Albert decided to hold the precious porcelain hostage. He held it up high over his head, the threat to smash it made clear.</p><p>"What the <em><strong>fuck</strong></em> am I doing here?!" He spat, wiggling the vase, "You--you're fuckin' kidnapping me now?!"</p><p>Sergei moved around the half wall of the kitchen slowly, pointing at the vase, "Put it <em>down</em>, Albert."</p><p>"No!" He wiggled it again, "Tell me!"</p><p>Sergei was approaching slowly, hand outstretched in a genteel, soothing manner, "You are at my apartment. I heard you collapse and I sent for you to ensure you were okay... alright?"</p><p>"No! I want to go home! Take me home <em><strong>now</strong></em>!"</p><p>"That isn't possible, <em>malysh</em>. You need to be monitored so you don't have an accident, it's for the best."</p><p>"<em><strong>Fuck you</strong></em>!"</p><p>Just then, a loud <em><strong>crack</strong></em> of thunder tore through the windows from the outside. It took Albert by surprise, who quickly flicked his chin in the direction of the window with involuntary caution. That second was all Sergei needed to gain the upper hand, Albert feeling the vase be plucked from his fingers and a hand wrap around his neck.</p><p>He squeaked pathetically as he was suddenly slammed backwards into the nearest wall, Sergei effortlessly holding him in place while he gently set the vase back upon its pedestal. </p><p>Albert thrashed out with his fists and legs, each little protest making contact with the older man but not doing a thing to phase him. Even the decently-placed right hook he'd landed on Sergei's ribcage barely made the man wince, but his grip tightened still. He choked and gurgled, clawing at Sergei's hand desperately as oxygen began to rapidly run low, his physical resistance weakening.</p><p>Sergei looked down at him disdainfully, momentarily tightening his grip and forcing garbled mews to bubble from Albert's flushing lips. After another few seconds of watching the younger man struggle, he loosened his fingers slightly, letting a rush of air be sucked down into Albert's empty lungs. </p><p>He let him regain his composure before he spoke, voice low and forceful.</p><p>"Now you listen to me, you little shit..." </p><p>Albert's furious eyes flicked upwards at him.</p><p>"We can do this one of two ways -- the easy way, or the hard way." He pushed a little bit when Albert tried to move, ensuring he stayed flush against the wall, "The easy way includes you staying here until you give birth so I can keep an eye on you..."</p><p>Albert hiccuped a sob, fingers still digging into Sergei's hand. He was sure he'd ripped through the skin but Sergei didn't seem to notice or care. </p><p>"The hard way includes you being strapped down to a table in the laboratory and treated like a science experiment. They will force feed you, and wipe your little cock when you piss. You'll give birth in a room full of interns giggling when your ass falls out."</p><p>"N-no, I don't want t-to-- <strong><em>eep</em></strong>!" The words were stolen from him as the older man tightened his grasp again, closing his airway fully beneath the squeeze of his tremendous palm. Albert felt his face going numb.</p><p>"You <strong><em>will</em></strong> be giving birth." Sergei said curtly, "Your only decision is between the two options I gave you. Pick."</p><p>Albert's lids were becoming heavy as a trickle of tears involuntarily fell from the glassy sheen of outrage that had developed over his blue eyes. He tried to gasp but failed, hands slipping away limply from their savage on Sergei's and dropping to his sides.</p><p>The older man sighed loudly, loosening his grip once more before planting a few, gentle slaps against Albert's cheek. </p><p>"<em>Malysh</em>..."</p><p>"...k... o... kayyyy..." Albert heaved quietly, whimpering whines squeaking through his teeth. </p><p>Sergei smiled, removing his grasp completely while holding onto Albert's shoulder to ensure he didn't drop to the floor as he sputtered and garbled through regaining his air supply.</p><p>"Good, good... Now come, have breakfast."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Privileges</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Albert had learned quickly that there were monitoring cameras all over Sergei's condo. </p><p>His first attempt at jimmying the locks of the front door open had ended with a shrill alarm sounding that was so loud he thought he might go deaf. His attempt at finding something in the kitchen to use as a weapon and stashing it away had ended with Sergei coming home and striding directly over to where he'd hidden the small butter knife. Even his attempt at drowning himself had been foiled, armed U.B.C.S - perhaps the ones monitoring the cameras while Sergei was gone - busting down the door to the bathroom shortly after he tried dunking his head into the semi-filled tub and dragging him away from it. </p><p>He didn't want to be pregnant. </p><p>He didn't want to be gestating some future experiment for Umbrella. He knew Sergei was infected with the epsilon strain of the T-virus -- the man was practically a walking B.O.W in his own right. Anything created of him would certainly not be human.</p><p>But he didn't want to be carrying anything of <em>Sergei's, </em>human or not.</p><p>He'd never been particularly happy in his life but now all he wanted was to be back at his shitty apartment, drinking his shitty beer, and waiting for the next shitty day. A small part of him wished someone would look for him, and an even smaller part wondered if anyone at S.T.A.R.S who had noticed his odd behaviour prior to his disappearance would bother putting the pieces together. But one night during dinner, Sergei told him that Irons had put in for an extended medical leave of absence for him, and that Valentine had been promoted to interim captain. Albert hadn't been able to contain lunging at him with a fist, a sloppy attack Sergei was easily able to counter with a harsh, knuckle-laden backhand to his face. </p><p>Most days, Albert spent his time sitting on the couch and staring at nothing. He wouldn't acknowledge when Sergei left for work, nor would he greet him when he returned. At night, he'd pretend to be asleep on the couch, and Sergei wouldn't try to move him, a courtesy of which he was thankful. One day, a Doctor came to greet him and take bloodwork, and Albert didn't say a word or acknowledge his presence the entire time he was being drawn.</p><p>It wasn't until Sergei began to demand he eat that they were forced to interact. </p><p>He didn't want to eat. </p><p>He wanted to starve the creature right out of him. </p><p>But Sergei seemed to have no problem <em>physically correcting</em> him when needed, letting him have his minute-long hunger strike until he became annoyed and simply grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to the dining room with all the ease of a child toting around a rag doll. </p><p>Tonight, it was some sort of pork and apple dish. </p><p>Sergei seemed to like to cook. It smelled lovely and was plated beautifully, but Albert just stared at it with disdain. The sound of Sergei's fork and knife scraping against the porcelain while he cut up morsels made his ears itch. </p><p>"Eat." Came the simple command.</p><p>Albert didn't respond, hands firmly lodged in his lap. He knew Sergei would force it down his throat at some point, as he always did, but there was a basic dignity in resisting as long as he physically could.</p><p>Sergei sighed, forking up a bit of roasted apple into his mouth and chewing slowly. </p><p>"Must we always do this, Albert? Every day, the same little dance? Don't you tire?" He said through full cheeks.</p><p>"Fuck you."</p><p>To his surprise, Sergei didn't assail him immediately for his defiance. The older man chuckled, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth with a white napkin. </p><p>"We have already done that, <em>malysh</em>. You were not a good fuck when drunk. I doubt you are a good fuck while sober."</p><p>Albert snarled, nose twitching in disgust. </p><p>Sergei looked up from his plate, carving through another edge of the pork.</p><p>"Are you going to eat or will I have to shove it down your throat again? It makes no difference to me."</p><p>Albert crossed his arms and sneered, "For someone so obsessed with the survival of what is inside of me, you seem to have no issue battering me around, Sergei."</p><p>Sergei waved his hand dismissively, "You are irrelevant to their survival. Your heart only need be beating."</p><p>Albert's sneer faltered somewhat. </p><p>"I could mash your skull in until you were dumber than a bowl of <em>okroshka</em> and so long as your body lived, they would survive. They do not care."</p><p>Just then, something clicked in Albert's head. Like a shockwave of electricity jolted up his spine.</p><p>"<em><strong>They</strong></em>...?"</p><p>Sergei smirked, "Ah yes... The bloodwork came back this morning. You likely have twins. Congratul--"</p><p>Albert didn't think, he just reacted. He grabbed the blunted knife Sergei had provided him with his utensils and tried to stab it into his stomach. But before he could penetrate the flesh beyond a simple, bruising bludgeon, Sergei had wrapped his massive hands around his arms and jerked them upwards. Albert could almost feel his shoulder joints popping out of place as Sergei tugged him from the chair, flailing, kicking, and screaming. </p><p>Sergei wasted no time in grabbing him by the throat, still holding one of his wrists. He squeezed as he walked him along, dragging him across the floor and out of the dining room. Albert could only gargle and gasp pathetically, trying desperately to beat at Sergei's leg with his free hand but quickly losing strength and energy as his oxygen supply was cut off. </p><p>He didn't even feel it when Sergei picked him up and launched him into the bed, vision blurry with tears and disorientation. Sergei flipped him over and pressed him into the bed, a huge hand on the small of his back, claiming his centre of gravity. </p><p>"You just lost every fucking privilege you had, Albert." He heard Sergei hiss, "Enough of this bullshit! I am sick of it!"</p><p>Before he knew it, his wrists were being fastened behind his back with heavy handcuffs. He squirmed and struggled, suffocating in the bedsheets like a cockroach in a puddle until Sergei flipped him over again.</p><p>Sergei didn't say another word as he left the bedroom, turning off the lights and slamming the door shut behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Little Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I have to go to the bathroom."</p>
<p>Sergei stared down at him, standing over the bed and knotting up a thin, black tie around his suit shirt collar. He was getting ready for work -- and had done so in complete silence since he'd woken up. </p>
<p>Albert, on the other hand, hadn't slept at all throughout the night. He'd wiggled as close to the edge of the bed as he could when Sergei re-entered the room after dinner, spending the night trying to plot the various forms of revenge he'd like to get on the older man. How he'd like to torture him. How much he wished he could just break free of the handcuffs and pluck the man's other eye out.</p>
<p>When Sergei had awoken, he'd gone to shower. Then he'd briefly slipped out of the room and the smells of something being cooked in addition to the already-overwhelming scent of minty soap made Albert's stomach churn.</p>
<p>He'd then changed in silence, and Albert knew the window to ask to relieve his angsty bladder was closing.</p>
<p>"Well? Are you going to let me go to the bathroom or do I have to piss in your bed?" Albert snapped after the older man didn't respond, hissing through a grimace. </p>
<p>Seregi sighed, finishing up the buttons on his cufflinks before grabbing Albert by the shoulder and lifting him from the bed. He shoved him towards the en-suite bathroom, still-steamy from his shower.</p>
<p>"J-just uncuff me!" Albert snarled, uncomfortable with the fact that Sergei was leading him to stand over the toilet.</p>
<p>"Why? So you can make a fool of yourself again?" </p>
<p>"I just have t-to go to the fucking bathroom -- j-just-- <em>gah</em>!"</p>
<p>Albert squeaked indignantly when Sergei unceremoniously lifted the oversized shirt he'd been swimming in since he'd woken up at his condo. The older man grabbed his flaccid cock with his other hand, aiming it at the bowl.</p>
<p>"So go." He said nonchalantly.</p>
<p>"F-fuck y-you!" Albert wiggled, not at all liking the sensation of the other man's touch nor the way he was so casually exhibiting control over his body.</p>
<p>Sergei sighed loudly, "I have to leave for a meeting, comrade. Are you going to go? Because if not..."</p>
<p>Albert grumbled, clenching his eyes shut and trying desperately to block out the sensation of a foreign hand on his penis as he tried to release his bladder. The sound of trickling was almost a relief, as he knew he'd have been in a rather desperate state the moment Sergei left. As he continued to relieve himself, Sergei leaned in to his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Later, my boys will come to feed and wash you."</p>
<p>Albert rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>"I will tell them to put you in fresh clothes as well." He noted, wiping Albert's cock off with some tissue the moment he was finished. Albert wiggled his hips until the shirt fell back into place around his hips, Sergei not quite seeming to care that it had bunched up around his belly and left him exposed.</p>
<p>The older man washed his hands quickly before manoeuvring Albert back to the bed, roughly pushing him so he plopped down onto his back and had to writhe like an insect to get into a more comfortable position like he had the previous night.</p>
<p>And with that, Sergei was gone. He silently grabbed a suit coat from the closet and strode out of the room without another word, the sound of a distant door opening and closing signalling his departure. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Faced with a lack of other options, Albert had somehow managed to drift off in Sergei's absence. </p>
<p>His dreams were plagued with scenes of monsters bursting out of him, ripping his belly to shreds as they birthed themselves into the world. Of Sergei's sneering face <em>congratulating</em> him as he bled out. Of the inhuman screeches and squeals of his <em>newborns</em>.</p>
<p>He woke in a cold sweat, gasping and heaving, his arms numb behind his back.</p>
<p>But it wasn't simply the dream that had spurred him from his sleep, but sounds coming from elsewhere in the condo... He recognised it as the front door slamming, and boisterous conversation about sports flooding through.</p>
<p>Albert shuffled in the bed, trying to use the headboard as leverage to sit himself upwards but failing before two men emerged into the bedroom. Albert couldn't quite catch their features until they flicked on the light, the two of them grinning at him like vipers. </p>
<p>They were uniformed -- donned in the characteristic green-fatigued getup of the U.B.C.S, but far more toned-down. Rather than being equipped with dozens of belts and weapons, they had a single handgun holster around their hips, and nothing more than a radio clipped to their vests. Albert figured they must have been part of Sergei's security detail. </p>
<p>"Well, well, well!" One of them spoke, casually sauntering into the room as he did, "What do we have here?" He had a thick Slavic accent, but raspier and higher than Sergei's. </p>
<p>"Looks like a little blond princess to me!" The other chimed in, an American, "Ready for bath time, princess?"</p>
<p>"S-stay away from me." Albert hated how pathetic he sounded. His eyes flicked from face to face, becoming increasingly unnerved with the brutally aggressive aura each of them was emitting. </p>
<p>"No can do, princess. Daddy says you gotta' have a bath!" The American said, grabbing him by the upper arm and tugging him from the bed. The other had slipped into the washroom and had begun twisting the taps in the tub, not seeming to be quite concerned with the temperature. </p>
<p>Albert yelped as he was tossed into the bathroom, the men immediately working together to rip off the t-shirt Sergei had draped on his much smaller frame. They giggled as they tore the fabric from him, ripping it along the seams and jerking it against his skin roughly until it all gave way and fell into a puddle around his feet. He could feel their lecherous eyes slurping at him, trailing along his back and hips, and it made him shiver in disgust. </p>
<p>"Ya' heard he's preggo?" The American mercenary said, prompting a giggle from the Slav.</p>
<p>"Yeah! With <em>twins</em>."</p>
<p>Albert snarled as they so casually conversed about him, pushing him towards the tub until he was forced to step over the edge into what was freezing cold water. Albert hissed and gasped, feet immediately flushing with the cold as they dipped into the water.</p>
<p>"Man, can you imagine being preggo with the <em>Colonel'</em>s twins?" They continued, "Princess is going to be the size of a tank engine by the time those two are ready to fall out."</p>
<p>"Fall?" The Slav said curiously. Albert didn't like the tone in his voice.</p>
<p>"F-fuck! F-fuck o-off!" Albert's eyes shot open as he felt a finger stuff its way into his hole unceremoniously, pushing past his tight ring of muscle and wiggling around inside of his entrance a few times. He tried to cringe away from the unwelcome insertion, but the mercenary persisted until he was ready to pull out. </p>
<p>"He is too tight for that. <em>Polkovnik</em> will have to break him in a bit first." He said, ripping his finger away roughly.</p>
<p>The American pushed Albert down by the shoulder until he was forced to drop to kneel into the ice-cold bath, whining and whimpering throughout. The water was slowly inching up his thighs, his teeth beginning to rattle with the temperature. </p>
<p>Working in a utilitarian fashion, the men poured liquid soap onto his hair and body. Cruelly, their hands began to work over his still-dry form, not quite caring for the discomfort it was all causing him. Clearly, Sergei hadn't told them to mind his needs. </p>
<p>One began to use a nearby loofa to scrub him down, lathering up the soap roughly with the rough sponge. He even ran it over Albert's face, bubbles flooding into Albert's mouth and causing him to sputter, gag, and cough. His eyes burned and his hair felt like it was being scalped off by the rough washing. When he was fully lathered, one fo them switched on the shower and rinsed him off, unhooking the showerhead and spraying him down like he were a freshly soaped up car.</p>
<p>By the end of the blissfully short washing, his eyes and throat burned from soap, and his skin was red and raw. The two men towelled him off as harshly as they had washed him, grabbing him by the hair and lifting him out of the tub carelessly. Albert gasped and whimpered, feeling strands of his golden locks be plucked from his scalp as they used it as a grip, tugging him along back towards the bedroom of slippery, wet feet.</p>
<p>"Fuck, did he leave us the keys for the...?" The American asked as he tossed Albert onto the bed.</p>
<p>"<em>Nyet</em>."</p>
<p>"Well! Looks like you're staying as God intended for the time being, princess."</p>
<p>Albert wiggled, the sheets sticking to his still-damp body as he tried to flip over onto his back. He kicked at the fabric impotently, trying desperately to slip beneath it and cover himself even in the smallest way. The two seemed to notice and were entertained by his efforts, watching him for a moment with smirks on their faces before they ripped the blankets off the bed, denying him the possibility of covering himself up. </p>
<p>"We gotta feed 'im." </p>
<p>"Mm. It is almost our lunch too. Do you want to go grab us something and I can finish up here?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure. The usual?"</p>
<p>"<em>Da</em>."</p>
<p>The two left the room for a moment, Albert listening closely as the front door opened and closed. A moment later, the Slavic mercenary returned with a spoon and a small glass jar with a colourful label. </p>
<p>
  <em>Baby food.</em>
</p>
<p>He was going to feed him baby food.</p>
<p>Albert winced and snarled as the man approached, popping the lid off casually. He took a sniff of the contents, dramatically cringing at the smell.</p>
<p>"Not very appetising, but what <em>Polkovnik</em> wants." He rasped with a growing smirk, lifting the jar to read the label, "Zucchini and kale... Lots of vitamin C, anyway."</p>
<p>He loomed over the bed and took a spoonful of the green sludge. Unconcerned for Albert's awkward, flat position on the bed, he leaned down and held the spoon close to his mouth, wiggling it a bit like he were being playful. </p>
<p>"A few bites and then I go." He said.</p>
<p>Albert kept his lips sealed, jaw clenched shut.</p>
<p>"Come on, <em>princess</em>..." He said, using the other mercenary's disdainful word, "Maybe it is good for you to know what your babies will eat. Educational..." He pushed the spoon a bit closer, until the edge was poking into Albert's lips, "Or will you breast feed them?"</p>
<p>Albert gagged as the spoon was suddenly forced past his lips, the edge cutting into the back of his throat as the mercenary forced the utensil in as far in as it would go.</p>
<p>The sickly bitter flavour of the emulsified vegetables coated his tongue immediately, the goop sliding down his throat involuntarily and causing him to choke and sputter around the huge spoon.</p>
<p>"Not a very good gag reflex..." The mercenary clicked his tongue, "A shame."</p>
<p>Green baby food ran down Albert's chin as the mercenary continued, pulling the spoon out from his mouth and scooping up more before shoving it back in, the metal rattling against his teeth as he was force-fed the slop. Most simply smeared over his lips and cheeks, but some non-consensually slithered towards his stomach, making it lurch and grumble in disgust.</p>
<p>Fortunately, the man was true enough to his word. A half dozen spoonfuls later, and he capped the jar and retreated.</p>
<p>Albert almost sobbed when the mercenary wordlessly left the room, the blond making pathetic, humiliated noises that mingled between whines and a growls of discontent and embarrassment as he was abandoned. Naked. Skin red and raw. Face slathered in baby food. </p>
<p>He'd never felt so powerless and pathetic in his life.</p>
<p>And the worst part was that he knew he wasn't even close to rock bottom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Third Month</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Albert had begged Sergei to take the handcuffs off, a few days into his bondage.</p>
<p>He complained that his arms were numb, and, to his surprise, Sergei liberated him of them.</p>
<p>But his freedom was short lived by his own devices, Sergei's guards catching him jimmying open a living room windows one morning after Sergei had left for work. He was promptly locked back up, this time with one of his wrists to the headboard of the bed. </p>
<p>One week after that, Albert begged again. </p>
<p>Sergei complied again. </p>
<p>And, <em>again</em>, Albert was caught in arrears. Rummaging through Sergei's closet he found a combat knife the man hadn't packed away properly, and he managed to brandish it at the U.B.C.S security detail who came flooding through the door when they noticed he had it through the cameras. He held them back until Sergei came home, the man unceremoniously marching through the gun-slingers and snatching his wrist -- but not before he managed to get in a good slice at the older man's arm.</p>
<p>Sergei had bound up his wrists and ankles that time, rolling him up tightly in a blanket like a baby's swaddle to ensure not an inch of movement was possible when he was not home. </p>
<p>One week after that, Albert begged again.</p>
<p>Sergei complied again. </p>
<p>But Albert didn't break any rules this time, instead settling into a corner of the couch with a quilt and sitting silently, staring at nothing. He could go stretches of days without making a sound, or even acknowledging the presence of Sergei, the Doctor, or the mercenaries who came to mock and jeer at him while 'babysitting.'</p>
<p>He'd eat when Sergei told him to eat, and was slowly graduated from soups and mashed vegetables to solid food he was allowed to use a fork with.</p>
<p>He'd wash when Sergei told him to wash. He'd sleep when Sergei told him to sleep. </p>
<p>And steadily - oh so steadily - he <em>grew</em>. </p>
<p>By the end of what he estimated to be the first month, his abdominal muscles had softened and a little pouch had developed. It was a heavy little pouch, one which sat like an anchor in his hips. He found he had to sit differently, and that sleep was becoming thin with discomfort as the positions he usually took to started to irk him.</p>
<p>By the end of the second, what had been a little pouch had turned into a sizeable one. Stretchmarks had begun to stripe at his usually taut, firm belly -- thin, silvery ones which he knew would grow worse and redden angrily with time. Albert would stare at himself in the mirror for hours, prodding the rapidly growing bulge with a mixture of disgust and shame on his face. His body made every sort of noise -- guts churning and bubbling, </p>
<p>In the third month, it became readily apparent how large the creatures inside of him were. And how large they were still meant to be terrified Albert.</p>
<p>Worse yet, as he got larger, Sergei began to take an interest to him. Where the older man had simply left him to stew and roil in self-pity for the first weeks, he would now take to watching him closely. Leering, smirking, openly staring, sitting closer and closer. It unnerved Albert even more than his own transforming physical self, which he was having a harder time covering beneath the robe he'd snatched from Sergei's closet.</p>
<p>The first time Sergei tried to touch his belly was well into the third month. Albert had involuntarily responded by smacking the older man right in the face. He kicked him away, shuffling off of the couch awkwardly and darting to the bathroom where he locked himself in. </p>
<p>Needless to say, Sergei wasn't pleased at the assumed effort to keep him from nurturing his own <em>babies</em>. </p>
<p>He'd responded in kind after effortlessly busting the door down, grabbing Albert by a tuft of his tousled blond hair and landing a punch so brutal Albert later found a jagged, cracked tooth while exploring his swollen mouth with his tongue. </p>
<p>"<em>You belong to me</em>." Sergei had snarled in his face, "<em>Your body -- your <strong>everything</strong> belongs to me until <strong>my</strong> boys are born</em>."</p>
<p>Reluctantly and only under threat of physical harm, Albert began to allow Sergei to touch him. </p>
<p>In contrast to how harsh he could be, Sergei would rub his growing tummy gently, lovingly whispering soft-worded somethings in Russian to the lump. Albert would dig his hands into the bedsheet and coil it between his knuckles while Sergei whispered and petted, trying to beat back cringe from the whole ordeal. Much to his chagrin, the sessions became increasingly more frequent -- it got to the point where the moment Sergei sat on the couch, Albert was expected to come and sit beside him so he could talk to his babies.</p>
<p>At first, Albert wrote it off as another symptom of Sergei's questionable mental health.</p>
<p>But It wasn't until the end of the third month that Albert realised the significance. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>"Are you hungry?"</p>
<p>Silence. </p>
<p>"Albert?"</p>
<p>"No." </p>
<p>The sound of a teaspoon clinking against the walls of a porcelain of a cup grated on Albert's nerves. Sergei was in the kitchen, the smell of his bitter herbal tea wafting through the condo. It was the weekend, and though Sergei often went into the office regardless of the day, he'd mentioned that morning that he was planning on resting and not going in to work. Though spending full days with Sergei were rare, Albert <em>detested</em> them when they did happen.</p>
<p>He almost preferred the mercenaries and their prodding and jeering. At least they made no attempt to cover up their cruelty. </p>
<p>That morning, Albert had plunked down on the couch as he always did, wrapping himself in a blanket and turning on the television. There wasn't much but children's shows on a Saturday, but he didn't care. It was all just a distraction for him. A reason not to look at Sergei.</p>
<p>"But you have not eaten today. And you ate very little last night... I feel you should eat."</p>
<p>Albert grit his teeth, "I am not hungry."</p>
<p>Sergei sighed loudly, "<em>You</em> may not be hungry, but are <em>my boys</em> hungry?"</p>
<p>"Why don't you fucking ask them?" Albert sneered, eyes still locked on screen despite his distaste for the bubbly, yellow sponge-man show. For a moment, he'd thought his retort was quite clever. </p>
<p>And then Sergei actually did.</p>
<p>"<em>Ivan, vy progolodalis</em>?"</p>
<p>Albert gasped when his belly suddenly lurched. In an instant, it was like all of the oxygen had been knocked from his lungs -- as though it had simply been slurped up and stolen. His mouth gaped and eyes widened as he choked on nothing, fingers clutching at his belly weakly. He could feel <em>them</em> moving -- rolling and throbbing inside of him like they were lashing out.</p>
<p>Albert slipped from the edge of the couch, falling to his knees as gravity seemed to snatch him by the throat and jerk him downwards. His entire body felt like it were getting warmer and warmer -- heat swelling in his head like a fever had suddenly manifested. He couldn't speak, throat tight and lungs empty, and quickly darkness plucked at the corners of his eyes like his body were losing grasp of consciousness. </p>
<p>"<em>Ivan... Vedi sebya prilichno</em>..."</p>
<p>In a rapid instant, it was all gone. </p>
<p>The gasping, the choking, the lack of air, the darkness, the fever -- gone. Like it had never happened at all. </p>
<p>Albert furrowed his brow, taking a deep breath as if to test his lungs and confirm they were indeed working. One hand moved to touch his neck, like he were expecting to find ghostly fingers wrapped around it. He then slipped it down to prod at his belly, and felt no movement or sensations out of the ordinary.</p>
<p>He swallowed, peripheral vision suddenly catching the sight of Sergei's feet -- the man had come to stand over him and he hadn't even noticed. Albert looked up at the older man with widened, confused eyes. Sergei was casually sipping his tea, a subtly amused expression on his scarred face. </p>
<p>"I think they are hungry, <em>malysh</em>. I will order some lunch."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p>
<p>"Ivan, vy progolodalis?" = Ivan, are you hungry?</p>
<p>"Ivan... Vedi sebya prilichno..." = Ivan, behave yourself.</p>
<p>And a refresher that 'malysh' just means 'baby' or 'sweetie.'</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Fifth Month</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We are entering SOLIDLY gross territory now so just-- those tags. Read em. That pseudo-incest tag really comes into play here but honestly there isn't even really a tag for this lmao</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"S... S-er... Sergei..."</p><p>The half-formed whimper was passed through clenched teeth, Albert's eyes firmly trained on a bundle of balled-up bedsheet in his fist.</p><p>Every month had become progressively harder. With size came difficulty -- difficulty in movement, difficulty in eating, difficulty in sleeping, difficulty in <em>breathing</em>.</p><p>By the fifth, he'd found himself in the bed the vast majority of the time, laying like an overturned beetle, limbs almost completely useless to manipulate himself up or down and forcing him to rely on Sergei for help.</p><p>He was fully at Sergei's mercy... and he <em>hated</em> it.</p><p>But despite the anger that came with his impotence, there was something far worse than the indignity in having to ask for help to do the simplest of functions... and that was the spawn themselves.</p><p>Albert <em>detested</em> them, and blamed them for every migraine, every thrown up meal, and every restless night of discomfort. They were parasites, and he was sure he could feel their toxic being seep into his brain sometimes -- inhuman screeches and cries that made him want to bash his head up against a wall to quiet.</p><p>More, as they'd grown, they'd become <em>rambunctious</em>, as Sergei liked to call it. They'd regularly pulverize his insides with kicks and twists that left him nauseous and whimpering. Sometimes he'd take to begging them to stop, but he couldn't.</p><p>They wouldn't listen to him.</p><p>Only to Sergei.</p><p>It was yet another nail in the coffin of his dignity, having to resort to begging Sergei to calm them so he could rest.</p><p>But where earlier he'd only need Sergei to silence them on occasion, it felt like the moments of reprieve were getting shorter and shorter.</p><p>There, sitting on the bed on his knees, rocking himself and trying desperately to get a moment of relief, he was <em>sure</em> he'd <em>just</em> called Sergei. He could still feel the warmth of the man's palm on his belly from where he'd been stroking it reassuringly -- and yet <em>they</em> were at it again.</p><p>They.</p><p><em>Ivan</em>.</p><p>Albert didn't know why the man called them by one name and it irked him immensely when Sergei would treat them as though they were some ghastly duel-bodied hive-mind.</p><p>But for all he knew, they were. He didn't like to give it much thought.</p><p>Albert cleared his throat and tried his plea for the other man's presence again.</p><p>"Ser-Sergei..." It sounded like a whine. A pathetic, vulnerable whine.</p><p>In the distance, a chair scraped against the floor. Sergei must have been in the dining room working, as he often did on weekends.</p><p>A moment later, the Colonel emerged in the frame of the bedroom door, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.</p><p>"Again, <em>malysh</em>? It has barely been 30 minutes!"</p><p>"Well it's not my f-fucking fau-- <em>gah</em>!" Albert wasn't able to finish his discontented snarl before a sharp wave of pain shot up his stomach and into his lungs. He whimpered, one hand instinctively going to grab at his swollen belly where he could feel them jerking about beneath the firm flesh.</p><p>Sergei chuckled, sauntering slowly towards the bed, "How many times must I say? Ivan does not like it when you are rude to <em>papashka</em>."</p><p>"Fuck o--" The reflexive comeback was immediately interrupted by another sharp flood of pain washing over his insides, silencing his bark into a whining mewl.</p><p>Sergei settled on the bed next to him with a warm sigh, "Such a will, <em>malysh</em>, even now, hmm?"</p><p>The older man shuffled back on the bed a bit further, until he could comfortably lean against the headboard. He took Albert by the shoulder and gently guided him to sit back, supporting him until he was able to lay onto his chest.</p><p>"It would be much better, I think, if you simply let go. No reason to fight. No point." Sergei grabbed the hem of the robe and opened it until Albert's belly was exposed, "Be nice and this will be much easier for you."</p><p>Albert wanted to retort, to bite back. He didn't even care about the potential <em>ramifications</em>, wanting nothing more than to express his displeasure. But before his thought could even fully form, Sergei's hand curled its way onto his stomach.</p><p>"O-oh..." Albert practically moaned in relief as, nearly instantaneously, all of the awful discomfort was gone. The spawn stopped their thrashing, and all of the pain melted off of him into the bedsheets like he was being hosed away of it. Albert sighed, head dropping to rest on Sergei's shoulder.</p><p>"You see? Much easier to be good <em>mama</em>." Sergei said softly, "Ivan will be good to you if you are good to them."</p><p>"I d-don't know h-how." It was a half-whine-half-growl, one that was almost involuntary. As much as he hated the spawn, he hated the perpetual discomfort more. If he knew how to silence the creatures, he would. Perhaps then he could keep a meal down or get some <em>fucking</em> sleep, "They won't s-stop... they won't stop..."</p><p>Sergei was rubbing him with gentle, soothing circles. And despite the fact Albert couldn't see his face, he could practically <em>feel</em> the older man grinning behind him.</p><p>He didn't like that. Not one bit. It unsettled him, though everything about Sergei generally did.</p><p>Albert tried to relax for a moment and ignore the weird vibe Sergei was emitting like a deadly aura. So comfortable, he could have almost passed out, his body wanting desperately to recoup some of the many lost hours of sleep he'd endured because of the beasts inside of him. But just as his eyes fluttered shut, he felt an odd sensation tickle up his thighs.</p><p>While one of Sergei's hands was still stroking and patting his belly, his other had moved inside his robe to rub up the side of Albert's thigh, something that took the younger man a moment to register.</p><p>"H-hey...!" He whined indignantly, "Don't!"</p><p>Albert tried to wriggle a bit to move Sergei's hand away, but his tremendous body made it difficult to do more than writhe like a ladybug.</p><p>"Shhh, <em>malysh</em>. Do you want them to get upset?"</p><p>"F-fuck th-them!"</p><p>As always, his protest was immediately rewarded with an end to the mild calm he'd achieved. He sputtered a gasp as the beasts inside of him began to thrash, a squeal in his brain echoing through his ears like a sudden burst of tinnitus. In an instant, it was like the air had been pummeled from his lungs. His hands desperately grasped at the bedsheet around him, hoarse wheezes coming out of his lips.</p><p>"You've worked on the tyrant project, Albert..." Sergei began, voice level and slightly amused.</p><p>"H-huh?!" Albert sputtered.</p><p>"When do B.O.Ws reach maturity?"</p><p>Albert squeaked, eyes widening as his brain suddenly washed with the information Sergei had provoked.</p><p>
  <em>Five months.</em>
</p><p>B.O.Ws generally reached maturity at five months gestation. Their bodies would continue to mutate and grow -- usually without limitation until given blockers -- but developmentally their cellular structure and intellect was as mature as it would get. Five month-old tyrants would usually be used for DNA extractions and replications, providing a good, quick, easy-to-store base for any number of experiments and trials.</p><p>Albert wondered why he'd never considered the implications before. Perhaps because most of the tyrants he'd dealt with have been tube-grown, rather than <em>naturally</em> gestated, and could be pulled from their chemical wombs whenever the scientists wanted rather than waiting for birth. But functionally the process would have been identical, and a clammy sheen began to develop on his forehead in sickness at what Sergei was implying.</p><p>The older man sighed, "Perhaps this is why my boys are becoming so restless, hmm? Their needs are changing..."</p><p>'<em>No. No. No. No. No. No</em>.' Albert grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head but unable to vocalize his protest.</p><p>Sergei's hand danced down his thigh once again...</p><p>"Ivan will be good to you..."</p><p>... and up the cleft where his hip met his thigh, teasing the thin skin there for a brief moment.</p><p>"... if you are good to them."</p><p>The older man's fingers combed through his soft, neat hair, petting along the base of his cock. Albert whimpered when he felt Sergei's lips comb the back of his left ear, a whisper tickling him with warm air.</p><p>"They feel everything you feel, <em>malysh</em>!" He said, a bit of giddiness in his voice, "When you are upset, they are upset. When you are sad, they are sad. When you are... <em>happy</em>..."</p><p>"O-oh f-fu-fuck!"</p><p>Albert's hips bucked upwards as much as they were able to when Sergei's grip finally coiled its way around his still-flaccid cock, a burst of electricity unlike anything he'd ever felt exploding within him. It was as quick and as complete as the calmness he'd always managed to find beneath Sergei's hands stroking his belly, as though the tyrants within him controlled every nerve in his body.</p><p>"Nononononooo...." Albert shook his head and clenched his eyes shut, shaky breaths heaving from him as his body began to instantaneously respond to Sergei's soft jerks over his rapidly hardening organ.</p><p><em>They</em> were going to <em>force him</em> to enjoy it.</p><p>The thought made Albert want to vomit but his revulsion was quickly fought off by another wave of euphoric electricity bolting through his veins.</p><p>"Just <em>relax</em>, my little sow. You will feel much better." Sergei's voice was low and slow, hot breath making him shudder as it blew across his cheek. The older man tightly squeezed his cock, manipulating the flesh beneath his fingers expertly. He squeezed at the glans and stroked at his opening, like he were methodically trying to hit every bundle of nerves in his now fully swollen erection, one by one.</p><p>"My boys will be happy, so you will be happy. Maybe you finally sleep tonight, <em>da</em>?"</p><p>Albert couldn't quite process the sensations rolling through him. It was nothing akin to any sexual pleasure he'd ever experienced. It was layered, complex, deep -- like he were falling through the sky endlessly. It was with no limit of cringe that he conceived it was likely because the creatures were reacting as well -- compounding their pleasure onto his as parasitically as they did everything else.</p><p>He was feeling what they were feeling.</p><p>They were feeling what he was feeling.</p><p>He wanted to be sick -- he internally begged them to give him a moment to process his disgust. But the moment he tried to feel anything but pleasure, it was as though every cell in his body was immediately whipped into compliance. His thoughts of horror were told to submit to the pleasure, and he had no recourse. His body didn't belong to him.</p><p>"G-gahh!" His moans were half-whines half-sobs of unbridled emotional anguish meeting physical ecstasy. His hips swayed with every firm stroke and squeeze of his cock, Sergei chuckling darkly at how he was trying to thrust up despite such an obscene belly holding him down.</p><p>Sergei set his free hand to the younger man's stomach, beginning to rub it gently as he continued his ministrations. Albert practically melted onto him, rolling his head back onto his chest as another pathetic noise snuck past the blond's lips.</p><p>Precum quickly began to leak from Albert's cock, and Sergei let it drip down, coating his fingers as he stroked and making the process far smoother.</p><p>Filthy little noises began to cut their way through Albert's groans -- the squelches of every firm jerk Sergei made complimenting the obscenity of the scene. With them, Sergei found himself growing flushed  -- body involuntarily responding to the smell and sounds of sex. Though he could feel his own erection growing in his hips, he had no interest in fucking Albert.</p><p>He was a vessel, nothing more. And Sergei wasn't particularly attracted to his pregnant body. His efforts were utilitarian in nature, seeking to keep content his spawn being housed in Albert's belly, but he silently resolved to order himself a whore later to take care of his own needs. Mentally, Sergei began to sort through his catalogue in an effort to decide which one might be a good fuck that night, but his thoughts were quickly cut short by Albert reaching his climax.</p><p>"Ho-holy f-fu-fuck!!"</p><p>Albert's orgasm was loud, the younger man screeching in delight as he came under the final expert milking of Sergei's hand -- white tendrils spewing over his hips and the bottom of his belly. Sergei was diligent, and made sure to squeeze out every last drop, not letting the reddened cock go until Albert had practically dissolved onto him, every muscle in the younger man's body relaxing simultaneously.</p><p>Sergei chuckled when he saw the expression of sheer, delirious joy twitching a perverted smile across Albert's flushed lips. He knew the orgasm would have been incredible, the pleasure of two other beings rolling through his nervous system simultaneously and overwhelming him, and he could gather that clearly reflected on Albert's face. He'd never seen the younger man look so ethereally pleased. Hell, he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen <em>anyone</em> look as euphoric.</p><p>Sergei wiped his cum-coated hand on the hem the terrycloth robe Albert had taken to wearing from his closet, reminding himself to have his laundry done soon.</p><p>Beneath his other palm, he could feel the tyrants had calmed to a near stillness in Albert's womb. They were satisfied with the pleasant hormones fluttering about their host's body, and were likely dissolving into a restful state.</p><p>Gently, Sergei took one of Albert's relaxed hands and set it atop his belly. The man had fallen into his contented unconsciousness before he'd even spilled the last of his seed, and was now breathing deeply, calmly, slowly. He'd sleep well.</p><p>"You see?" Sergei sighed, "Ivan is happy -- you are happy."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WOOOOwwwww this took way too long to get out. I am sorry guys!</p><p>Do you.... do you kind of see where this is... going now? </p><p>no?</p><p>yes you do, don't lie to yourself.</p><p>When I said this was going to be worse than 'Mother' I MEANT it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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